


I won't

by Little_tortoise



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angry Sex, Angry Thranduil, Dubious Consent, Elf Reader, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Forced Marriage, Loss of Virginity, Mirkwood, Thranduil is and isn't an asshole, Thranduil needs a hug, no y/n
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:34:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23854693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Little_tortoise/pseuds/Little_tortoise
Summary: You are forced to marry the King of the Woodland realms, in order to seal a political and military alliance between two Elven people that have grown wary of each other, and now find themselves in dire need of mutual help. You already dislike him. Don't you?
Relationships: Thranduil (Tolkien)/Reader
Comments: 47
Kudos: 271





	1. Into the Elvenking's Halls

**Author's Note:**

> English is not my mother language. Please forgive mispellings and grammar errors 😊  
> This is my first reader-insert.

“I won’t.”

Your uncle, Cìrdan the Shipwright, stepped forward and hissed lowly: “You will. We need this alliance as much as he does. Now, get down of this horse and be ready to meet your husband.”

You swung one leg over the horse’s croup and jumped down.

It was an understatement to say you were not at ease. Truth be told, you had been uneasy since this marriage had been arranged between you and the King of the Woodland realms. You were to seal a political and military alliance between two Elven people that had grown wary of each other, and found now themselves in dire need of mutual help since the Shadow had been cast out of Dol-Guldur and growing strong in the East.

A sense of dread was filling you, because this forest was dark and sorrowful. The trees seemed to whisper, and ominous shadows seemed to move under their depths. It was so different from the place you came from. In the Grey Havens, you could always see the sky, smell the salty fragrance of the Gulf of Lhûn. Here, you felt oppressed, and it had nothing to do with the high collar of your gown.

Prince Legolas, who had joined your travelling group along with an escort at the edge of Mirkwood, made a gesture of invitation. He was almost the same age as you, yet you were to be wed to his father.

Age was not a problem, as Elves are immortal. But marrying the Elvenking made you aware of how unexperienced you were. Moreover, he was told to be cold and harsh. Arrogant and obnoxious. Your uncle didn’t like him.

You had crossed Thranduil’s late wife’s statue when you entered Mirkwood. It seemed to be raised under the grim trees as a guardian of the Woodland realms. Above all, it had reminded you that you were only the second wife, and that the King was known for never having ceased mourning his wife. You had spent the entire journey wondering if he would allow you to comfort him, or if he would ignore you, or worst, despise you for intruding his widower’s bed.

“My lady, if you will?”

Legolas’ soft, polite voice shook you out of your musing.

You smiled graciously and followed him as he led you. You stepped through a few more trees, then stopped as you arrived in front of a white stone bridge lay across an impetuous stream. On the other side of the river there were great pillars of carved stone, above three great doors leading into the cliff. The halls of Thranduil were his palace, and a stronghold for his people.

“Is this an underground palace?” you asked, uneasy as ever, for you were used to live outside in the air.

“Yes it is, my Lady”, Legolas answered, “though you might find it is not at all like a Goblin’s cave.”

Disconcerted, you raised your eyebrows. What could you know about Goblins? You had been raised in a safe and peaceful place. The sea could be rough, but you never suffered from an attack. You walked through the bridge, following the Prince, and crossed the threshold of what would be your home. At least, you hoped to manage to feel at home in here.

The cave you walked in was not dark and you stopped to admire the sight. Light flooded the great halls from many large windows, and though you were in a cave, it was wholesome, crossed by many streams upon which were laid slight bridges. Moss and bushes grew near the water, and when you tilted your face to the ceiling, it was so high it almost disappeared in the shadow between the high pillars.

“This is magnificent”, you whispered.

“Gloomy”, you heard your uncle mutter behind you.

Turning your head to him, you hushed him: “This is my home now.” You tried to appear determined, when you felt miserable.

He grunted.

Prince Legolas overheard you, and turning slightly, he said with a smile: “It is still a bit cold, for it is too early in spring. But in a few weeks, it shall be truly stupendous, my Lady.”

Well, if you feared your intended to be cold and distant, his son at least was courteous and friendly. Maybe you would have someone to talk to.

“This way, my Lady.”

You walked behind Legolas on the footbridge that led to the throne room, followed by the cortege of Elves from the Grey Havens. You could see the Throne in the distance: it seemed to be huge, but when you stopped before it, you could clearly see that it had been built to make an impression. King Thranduil was casually reclined in his throne, legs crossed and arms sprawled on the armrests. He was wearing a long silver coat. Many gems were shining on his rings, and his golden hair was crowned with twigs and buds. He gave you a haughty smile as you stopped on Legolas’s signal, and graciously descended the steps to meet you.

After having greeted your uncle with a graceful nod, he set his icy stare on your figure. He was taller than everyone in the room, and his stately demeanour made him even taller, if possible. He was towering you, looking at you with half-closed eyes. He was beautiful, with his fair skin, high cheekbones, straight nose and dark brows above steel-blue eyes. But his cold disdain made your entrails knot like a contorting snake.

“You are very thin, little sprig”, he said, stroking a strand of your dark hair between two fingers. You curtsied, shyly casting your eyes down. “What a delicious morsel you are bringing me, Lord Cìrdan.” He took your chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting your face to his, leaning slightly to look you in the eye.

“Slate-grey. Is the sea the colour of her eyes?”

You bit your lip. He was talking of you as if you weren’t even here. Examining you like a horse. Like a broodmare.

“Sometimes it is, my King, before a storm”, you answered.

You knew your brewing indignation was easy to read on your face and in your gaze, yet it just seemed to fuel his arrogance.

“Is she a maiden?”

You gasped in indignation. How could he dare asking it, and even doubting it?

“Are you a maiden, little sprig?” he asked you.

“Yes, I am, my _King_ ”, you hissed.

He smiled smugly, straightening.

“Very good, _Netholf_. For I shall not fuck anyone else’s leftovers.”

Netholf. Sprig. You couldn’t decipher if it was an endearment or a sarcasm. You waited for your uncle to retort, but as nothing but an embarrassed silence stretched over you and your cortege, you freed yourself from the king’s touch, and answered with a forced smile, blinking the tears that threatened to form in your eyes: “I am going to pretend this was a compliment.”

He gave you another cocky smile, and chuckled lightly.

“You have spirit, Netholf, I give you that. It’ll be fun to tame you”, he whispered darkly in your ear. He didn’t notice your shiver, for he turned and slowly walked away, regally talking to the Elves accompanying you: “But you must be exhausted by your journey. You will be led to your rooms, where you will be able to get some rest. Tonight, we will celebrate together.” Turning to you, he added: “I will marry you tomorrow.”

You managed to hold straight and unshaken until you were alone, but as soon as you closed your chamber’s door, you couldn’t help crying. You felt so angry and miserable. You were going to spend your eternal lifetime with the obnoxious, heinous, offensive Thranduil. You wanted to scream. But you could not make a scene. Make a fool of yourself. So you undressed and dipped into to steamy bath already waiting for you, eager to get rid of the sweat and dirt of your long ride.

A maid silently entered to help you dress and trim your hair for the feast. You eluded every attempt of small talk, brooding and watching your hands while she combed and plaited your hair, adorning it with flowers.

“My lady”, she finally said, “don’t be so sombre. The people rejoices in having a new queen. The Woodland Elves have been waiting for you since the King announced his marriage. We have faith in you.”

“The King seemed to take pleasure in humiliating me in front of _my_ people.”

“He has forgotten what is it to love, and to be loved. Give him a chance, my Lady.”

You nodded politely, and smiled, knowing the smile didn’t reach your eyes.

When you looked at yourself in the mirror, you thanked your maid for her work. You wore a night blue velvet dress with silver embroideries on its hugging bodice and long sleeves, and you hair was crowned with white flowers.

“Pick a necklace in my jewellery box.”

“The King wishes that you wore no jewel, my Lady.”

You huffed through your nose in annoyance. Must he also decide of your appearance?

“Very well.”

There was a knock at the door: it was your uncle, fetching you for the feast. He dismissed your maid, then smiled benevolently at you.

“You are beautiful, my beloved niece.”

You were not done with your anger, and couldn’t help answering harshly.

“Thank you, uncle, for letting my intended insulting me earlier.”

“Thranduil is quite rough, I assume. I haven’t met him since a long time. He wasn’t so wary, as a young _ellon_.”

“He is as obnoxious as he is beautiful.”

Your uncle chuckled, and extending his hand to show you the way, he said : “The most beautiful _ellon_ I have ever met, I dare say. Now brace yourself, niece.”

You took a deep breath in, squaring your shoulders. You were now determined not to let Thranduil know he unsettled you: as much as you disliked him, you wanted to behave regally. You curtsied before him, a maidenly smile on your face, and he smiled back. This time, he seemed genuinely pleased with your appearance, for his perfect teeth flashed and he bowed his head to greet you. “You are beautiful, Netholf.”

You cast your eyes down in shyness. You were still angry at him, no matter his handsomeness, but you couldn’t let it show.

“Thank you, your Majesty.”

“I have a gift for you, my bride”, he said in his deep, silken voice, producing a necklace made of white gems and silver, a beautiful jewel crafted by Dwarfes. You nodded gratefully.

“It is a magnificent gift, your Majesty.”

“It belonged to my mother.”

Such a gift was intimidating. It meant that he was allowing you to be part of his family. Yet you felt relieved that the necklace wasn’t his late wife’s: that would have been awkward.

He circled you to fasten it. You brushed your hair out of the way, and waited in silence, trying not to flinch when his fingertips lingered on your nape. The contorting snake was back in your gut, and you couldn’t remember feeling so nervous. You turned back to him, thanking him courteously, casting a glance to see a smile on his face.

No doubt he was pleased with himself, for showing off his benevolence after being so rude on your arrival. So you lowered your eyes, not allowing him to see your distrust. He extended a hand to you, as an invitation to lead you to the dining table and you obediently took it, walking side by side to your chairs. You sat next to him, keeping silent.

The dinner was an ordeal, as you felt extremely nervous but tried desperately to act as if you were completely at ease, not drinking wine in order to keep your wits, and not able to eat much. The King mostly talked to your uncle, so you chatted with people sitting next to you, trying not to drown in sadness and frustration.

When music started, Thranduil invited you to join a slow group dance. He danced beautifully, moving and swirling with more grace than you have ever seen. Coldness was gone from his gaze as he smiled at you, and this was all the more unsettling. How could he coldly ignore you a moment then behave kindly?

There was another dance, then another. After your third dance, he went back to the table, and you politely excused yourself, heading to a large window opening to a large balcony. You welcomed fresh air as it filled your lungs, though the night was cold. The balcony opened on the cliff, over the river, and you could see beeches on the other side of the ravine and stars high in the sky. It was a relief to know that there was a place in this halls where you could see starlight. You missed it so much during the three days spent travelling through Mirkwood. As much as the forest was dreadful, the beeches that you saw seemed harmless and peaceful. You liked these trees. Maybe there were areas of the forest where you could safely have a walk?

You heard footsteps behind you, and assuming it was Cìrdan coming to scold you for leaving the feast, you spoke first: “Leave me alone.”

“I know you are here, Netholf. Why do you linger in the shadows?”

The King’s dark, silky voice made you jump and you spun to him.

“Forgive me, my King, I didn’t know it was you.”

He came next to you and gave you a smile, then turned his gaze to the sky.

“Aren’t they beautiful?”

“I missed them”, you confessed.

“You seem woeful. I know that coming here, you are doing what you are told.”

You kept silent, eyes fixed on the beeches, for fear of offending him with your answer. You flinched when he touched your hair.

“Tell me. Do you not want to be my Queen, Netholf?”

His tone was not cold nor ominous. You felt that he was genuinely asking you. You took a deep breath.

“Your Majesty must know that I can’t lie. I can’t conceal my heart. That is why I’d better not talk, for fear of what I could say.”

“Now you are alarming me. What is it you want to say? Please, feel free to speak.”

What if it was a trap? You knew in his realm, you were at his mercy.

“I never asked my uncle Cìrdan for this. I never dreamt to be a queen, never expected to marry, either. But when he told me of your arrangement, I submitted, even if I felt like he had sold me. Please, my King, you must understand that I am fully aware that I am but your second wife. I have no intention of replacing your son’s mother.”

He stiffened at your words, but you went on.

“I don’t expect love from this marriage, my King. But before I first met you, I expected trust and respect.”

“Not anymore?” he asked, brows furrowed, lips slightly parted.

“I don’t see respect when you examine me like a broodmare, inquiring about my virginity, claiming you will tame me like an animal.”

You stopped talking, for your voice was threatening to break and you didn’t want him to hear your distress. Telling the truth was relieving, even if you didn’t feel less miserable.

He let out a heavy sigh.

“You must forgive me, _Meldîs_. I have long forgotten how to behave with a young _elleth_.”

You closed your eyes at the endearment.

He came behind you, circling his arms around your middle, and kissed the crown of your hair.

“I understand that you be wary of me”, he whispered.

“I don’t want to hate you, my King. You must know that I will willingly share my body with you for the sake of our people. All I hope is to be treated like a partner, not like –“

You cut your words, knowing you were pushing too far. But he asked anyway: “Like what? A prisoner? Is that what you think?”

“A hostage, kept here as a token of trust and mutual assistance.”

He chuckled, the vibrations in his chest echoing in your back.

“I find you very refreshing, my dear. No one dared speaking to me like this for centuries.”

“I am sorry if I offended you, my King.”

“There was no offense. I thank you for being so sincere with me.”

He tightened his arms around you and you revelled in his warmth, as it protected you from the crisp air of the night. You were tempted to lean against him, but it felt so improper: what would he think of it, of you?

“I can’t promise love, for my love is not mine to give anymore”, he said in a low voice. “But I offer you trust and friendship.” As he leaned down to you ear, you inhaled his scent – oak moss and something spicy – clove? coriander? – and shivered at his dark whisper.

“I make you a promise. Pleasure beyond measure.”

You gasped as his breath fanned on your cheek, and he lightly brushed the skin of your neck with his fingertips.

And then the night’s chill was at your back again, and his footsteps disappeared.


	2. Briars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mostly fluff and smut.  
> Thank you for reading!

After a fitful night, you fell fully asleep at dawn, just to be woken a few hours later by an army of maids entering to prepare you for your wedding. They ran you a bath, scrubbed you raw, washed and brushed your hair until it shone, perfumed your body with sweet, flowery fragrances, then dressed you. From the Grey Havens, you had brought a silk dress the colour of full moon, embroidered with honeysuckle and bindweed: your wedding gown had been sewed before your departure and you knew it was as simple as it was magnificent. You didn’t like sophisticated dresses. While preparing, you managed to eat a little, napping at some fruit or cakes, but your stomach tightened in nervousness with each bite.

In the middle of the afternoon, you were perfectly dressed. Your hair was loose, as it fitted for a virgin, and you wore a crown of _uilos_ , flowers like white stars, as well as Thranduil’s necklace.

Cìrdan came to fetch you and lead you to your husband-to-be, who was already waiting for you in a beech wood that sprawled above his halls. The place was quiet and peaceful yet you felt both resigned and terrified, like a lamb to the slaughter. Thranduil was wearing a light green silk cloak, embroidered with ivy leaves, and ivy berries were laced in his crown. Here was the King of Spring, in all his vigour, beautiful and intimidating.

You took place at his side and your uncle placed your hand in Thranduil’s warm one. As you cast a shy glance to him, he nodded and smiled at you. You faced each other as you both pronounced your vows, pledging affection, faith and support and then your hands were symbolically tied together with a large braid made of herbs and leaves. You wouldn’t be allowed to remove it before you entered the King’s rooms at night. Then Thranduil leaned to kiss you. You didn’t dare watching him in the eye. Instead, you set your gaze on his neck, inhaling his forest scent of moss and earth. You liked the contrast between his delicate features and this manly neck. You wondered how it would feel to kiss the hollow of the neck, and realizing you had such a thought surprised you. Suddenly realising he was waiting for you, you obediently tilted your face to his and he deposed a chaste kiss on your lips.

You had never been kissed. His lips were warm, both soft and firm. He pulled back, watching you intently, and you felt your cheeks flush even more, which he seemed to notice as he smirked. The anxiety at the pit of your stomach was replaced with another sort of nervousness. You had liked this kiss, and you remembered his promise. You licked your lower lip, and his eyes darted at your mouth, darkening at once.

Cheers and congratulations broke the moment, and you smiled awkwardly at the assistance. Guests formed a procession to offer their congratulations and pay their respects, and Thranduil gently squeezed your hand to reassure you.

Hours later, you were sitting next to your husband at the feast table. You had been unsettled at once, for there was only one plate and one goblet for both of you. “A symbol of our union and mutual support”, he had explained in your ear.

“Does it mean you’ll feed me?” you had asked warily. He had laughed softly and answered that he very much expected you’d feed him too. At his words and smile, you had blushed once more, feeling the heat in your neck and on your face, but also in your belly. How strange. But then, you had turned to really enjoy giving him small bits that he ate playfully. How could he be so fickle? Aloof and bored yesterday, kind and gentle today. He spoke with other people during the wedding meal, but you were mostly the centre of his attention. As you gave him a bit of honeyed cake, he caught your wrist and softly sucked the honey from your forefinger. His tongue brushing against your fingertip made you gasp and blush. “My King, this is highly improper”, you whispered. “You are right”, he whispered back, “let us not tarry any longer.”

He stood suddenly. “It has been a tiring day, _hervess_. It is time for us to retire.”

He had called you “wife” in front of everyone. You smiled and followed suit, immediately hailed with cheers and laughter. You felt embarrassed as all the Elves stood and started to escort you to the King’s chambers, sending wishes of happiness and fertility. Your husband laughed with them and answered pleasantly. But for you, you were feeling shier and when he opened the large door of his chambers, a sense of dread filled your belly, your gut tightening. He let out a relieved sigh as the door closed and you were alone. “At last, a little privacy.” You took a look at your surroundings: his chambers were lavish. The high ceiling was supported by pillars reproducing trees and their canopies. A fire was lit in a large fireplace, warming the room. Standing next to you, Thranduil combed your hair with his fingers. “You are beautiful, Netholf. I feel lucky.” This time, you knew he said it as an endearment and you genuinely smiled. “You are very handsome too, _hervenn_.”

You could call him “husband”, now, couldn’t you? He leaned down to you and stopped just before brushing his lips on yours. You could feel his breath on your face, hot and smelling of the wine you had both savoured before. He was watching you intently, and you felt incredibly bold as you lifted your chin to meet his lips. He smirked, and immediately his lips were eager and demanding.

He rapidly pulled back though, untying your hands and tossing the herbal plait aside.

“Are you afraid?”

“Yes”, you breathed.

“Of me?”

You nodded, then added: “And of what is to come.”

“Mmmh. I will be gentle.”

His words did not reassure you, for there was no way of escaping this. You were determined to give yourself to him, to ensure the alliance between the Woodland realm and Mithlond, but it didn’t mean you were at ease with the mere idea of the act. You pressed your lips together and held your chin high all the same. You were going to be the Queen. You had to be strong. He lightly laughed through his nose, which made you frown: was he making fun of you?

Taking your hand, he led you to his bedroom and crossed the room. You exited on a balcony overhanging the river. You barely saw it in the shadows, but you could clearly hear the water running, and feel the humidity in the chilly air. Turning to you, Thranduil slid his hands around you, caging you in his strong arms, and you put your hands on his shoulders for balance as he leaned down and kissed you. His lips moved lightly on yours at first, but he opened his mouth and licked your lower lip, then nipped it. You gasped in surprise, and he smiled against your mouth.

“Your turn”, he whispered, resting his forehead against yours.

“What?”

“I’m teaching you, Netholf. Two must play this game.”

You tilted your head and kissed him just like he had done, licking his lip the way he had instructed you. A pleasant heat was sprawling in your belly and chest as he gently kissed you back. He opened his mouth and you tentatively probed in it with your tongue, which elicited a low rumble in his chest that sent shivers down your spine and right between your thighs. One of his hands glided at your nape as he deepened the kiss, slipping his tongue in your mouth. His other hand slid over your back and down to your buttocks, and you felt ashamed when a moan unwillingly escaped your throat. He, on the contrary, seemed very pleased. You shivered in his arms, whether from the chilly and dim air or from these new sensations coursing through your body.

“You are cold, let us go back inside.”

He took the lead and he stopped by the window. You followed him and removed your crown of flowers, then turned to him to do the same. Under your fingertips, his hair was at soft as it seemed. Lowering your gaze, you fixed your eyes on his neck. Particularly the hollow at its base. You traced it with light fingers then, feeling bold, you kissed it just like you had thought after pronouncing your wedding vows. A low growl echoed in his throat and chest. You loved this sound, low and animal. It made your body react, urging you to instinctively press your thighs together. Thranduil lightly stroked your arms, letting you kiss him.

Now you wanted to see him. Lifting your hands to his collar, you shily asked: “Is it improper that I help you to remove your coat, _hervenn_?” He chuckled lightly. “Please.” You unclipped the hook-and-eye fastening of the garment, biting your lower lip as you helped him to take it off. Under the coat, he wore a white light tunic with a loose collar. Unable to hold back, you traced his skin with your fingertips. “Do you want to remove it as well?” he teased you with a cheeky smile.

The question embarrassed you. What would he think of you?

“I – um – I don’t know.”

“Do as you please, Netholf. This night is yours.”

Meeting his gaze with yours, you slightly nodded, and he swiftly discarded the tunic. Your breath went shallow at the sight of his perfect skin and taut muscles.

“You can touch me. Explore. Take your time.”

His skin was soft and warm under your fingers, and you found it very pleasant to fondle him. As you trailed down his ribs to his waist, he flinched.

“Could you possibly be ticklish, my King?” you giggled.

He leaned down and kissed you, his hands roaming on your back and hips. When he pulled back, he watched you solemnly.

“I have to confess”, he hesitantly began, “that this is not my true aspect. An enchantment has been cast upon my body.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I am scarred. Horribly burnt by dragonfire.”

“Show me.”

A wary glint gleamed in his eyes.

“I want you to trust me, _hervenn_. Show me.”

His throat worked hard as he swallowed, then he closed his eyes and scars appeared on his face and on his upper chest. Horrid scars. The skin and flesh seemed to have melted, leaving holes between muscles and tendons in his cheek, where his skin had not be protected by the armour. The skin of his chest was melted, too, but these were not the worst scars. You cupped his face and he opened his eyelids. His left eye was white and glassy. Blind.

“Are they still painful?” you asked cautiously, lightly stroking the soft scar-tissue.

“Sometimes, they are. Mostly during winter, when it is snowy.”

“How much pain you must have endured, _Thalionen_. And yet you survived the dragonfire.”

You didn’t understand if it was your calling him “dauntless” or mentioning his pain that caused his reaction. He leaped upon you, his gaze hardening.

“Don’t pity me.” He hissed.

“I don’t pity you. All I see is pain, bravery and strength. And trust, so much trust in me.”

You smiled at him. You couldn’t explain the feeling blooming in your chest. Warmth, trust, joy even, and a queer sensation, as if your chest was expanding.

“I don’t think you are ugly, quite the contrary if I dare say. I think you are incredibly courageous and strong.” You slid your arms in his back, clasping him and nuzzling against his collarbones. “Despite what I told you yesterday, I must confess that I find myself very happy to be your wife.” Inhaling his scent – oak wood and – _rain?_ – you managed to breathe: “You smell good, I like it.”

He growled lowly and pulled back just enough to cage you in his arms and give you a bruising, desperate kiss that left you dizzy and panting. You gasped as he traced a breast with his fingers, and when you broke the kiss, the scars were hidden by the spell. You smiled at him. “Please, untie this dress”, you breathed, and he giggled. His eyes were wet and you found yourself surprised that he could both laugh and get emotional. This was not the same cold, proud _ellon_ you had met the day before. Gone were the icy stare and haughty face. While his hands were working at your back, he was watching you with a warm gaze and a genuine smile which made your heart skip a beat. Soon your dress was pooling at your feet and you swiftly discarded the thin linen shift you wore under it, leaving you bare to his eyes. It was pleasingly indecent to be exposed and you wondered if you shivered because of the chill air of the room or because of his darkening gaze. “You are beautiful, _hervess_.”

He tentatively lifted a hand, stopping it a few inches of your skin, silently waiting for your permission. You nodded and gasped as he cupped a breast, fondling it and rolling your nipple between two fingers. Then his hands and lips were all over your body: he was kissing, licking, nipping at your earlobes, throat, breasts while his hands were roaming from your nipples down to your sex, and you let out a loud gasp as he cupped it in one hand. He gently pushed you towards the bed and, when the back of your legs hit the bed frame, he whispered hoarsely: “Get on the bed.”

You crawled back and laid down, staring at the painted branches and leaves on the ceiling, feeling the nervousness back in your belly, while you could hear the ruffle of his remaining clothes as he undressed. The mattress dipped as he climbed on it, and you slightly turned your face and gaze to him, careful not to look to low in fear of what you could discover. It was so intimidating. He put a hand on one of your knees, pressing lightly on the inner knee. You understood and opened your legs for him, and he smiled. He settled between your knees, sitting on his heels, and lightly stroke the skin of your inner thighs. “You are as soft as silk”, he rasped. He rolled his long hair on his nape and tied it with a leather lace. Leaning above you, he resumed his kissing and fondling, and you kissed him back, exploring his shoulders and back with your hands. When a hand ventured on his buttocks, he growled and the sound made you shiver.

One of his hands got back to your sex, tracing your folds and your opening. “You are wet. So wet for me. Do you trust me?” You shyly nodded, letting him do as he pleased, but you felt both excited and scared. He slid one finger inside you, just a knuckle at first, then deeper, until you felt the heels of his hand on your folds. You squirmed and winced in discomfort, instinctively closing your knees. He put his other hand on your thigh to keep you open. “Relax, Netholf. I’m preparing you. Do you remember my promise?”

You nodded. “Pleasure”, you breathed. “Precisely.” He traced your slit with his thumb, wetting it, then brushed the bundle of nerve above your folds. Your hips jerked forward at the jolt of pleasure that shot through you, and his finger inside went deeper. “Ah”, you panted. He moved his finger back and forth, and soon you were used to it, not feeling uncomfortable. He must have felt it, for he added a second finger, stretching you wider, and you sighed, closing your eyes when he moved his fingers inside you, feeling a pressure building in your lower belly. You let out a frustrated huff when he withdrew his hand and opened your eyes, just to see him suck his fingers, and your mouth fell open in shock. This was _obscene_ , wasn’t it? Could he really want to taste your most intimate fluids? “You taste so sweet, my _Netholf_. Like honey and morning dew.”

Heat crept up from your chest to your neck and cheeks, and he chuckled lightly. “I like it when you blush like that,” he whispered peppering kisses on your face. “I want you to touch me”, he said, and he sat back at little, taking your wrist and guiding your hands to his manhood. The sight of it made you uneasy. It stood hard and erect, thick and long, between his thighs. How was it supposed to fit inside you without being hurtful?

He closed your fingers around him, and you marvelled at the touch, hard, velvety and warm at once. Holding your hand, he stroked up and down, then put his hand off, and you repeated the stroke. He shut his eyes and hissed. “I’m sorry”, you said. “Don’t be, Netholf. You are giving me pleasure.” You smiled, and becoming bolder you resumed your stroking. His breath was now laboured, and he shut his eyes tightly as if in pain, whispering your name for the first time since you had met. A strong, strange feeling overflowed you. He was acknowledging you, accepting you, at last. And you felt that you were accepting him, too. Sitting up, you reached his face to kiss him, obeying a strong urge. “Please, my King.” You didn’t even know what you were begging for, yet he seemed to understand for he circled his arms around you and laid you on your back. Taking his member in hand, he aligned himself with your entrance and thrust lightly before retreating, then thrust a little further and retreated once more. He kissed you and whispered “I’m sorry, Netholf, I’m going to hurt you. Just once.” You frowned but before you could answer, he thrust harder, breaching you, and you let out a cry mixed with a sob as a sharp pain tore your insides. He stilled as you breathed hard through gritted teeth, and he kissed lightly your forehead and hair.

After a few moments, you found that relaxing eased the pain. Your body seemed to adjust to him, accepting him just as our heart did. When you were able to speak again, you managed to smile and tease him: “Is that ‘being gentle’, my King?”

“I’m sorry”, he whispered back. “How do you feel?”

“I’m fine. There is almost no more pain.”

He grunted, and tentatively rolled his hips. You gasped at the sensation when he crooked one leg in his arm, opening you wider. He took a steady pace that soon made you pant beneath him, as you felt _something_ building in your lower belly. You couldn’t help sighing and moaning softly, which seemed to please him very much. “How do you feel?” he asked gently. You had trouble speaking, and as you shut your eyes to focus on your sensations, he talked to you in his king’s voice: “Open your eyes, look at me, Netholf. How do you feel?”

You obeyed, watching him in the eye, but found yourself at a loss of words. This was so intense, so intimate. His piercing gaze, his strength, his scent, the way he filled you, and –

“How do you feel?” he demanded.

“Good”, you croaked.

“You are wet, and tight, and warm. I shall never tire of you.”

He slipped a hand between your bodies, circling the nub above your folds, and you cried out as a jolt of pleasure surprised you. “ _Ah_ , my King!”

“Call me by my given name”, he rasped, thrusting harder.

It was like walking on the edge of a cliff. You had to focus as the vertigo grew stronger, and then, with his slow and hard trusts combined with his fingers circling your bundle of pleasure, you fell off, hit by a wave of pleasure spreading from your core, your hips, to your belly and chest, to your thighs and down to your toes, making them curl. Thranduil groaned and rutted inside you, then he abruptly stiffened with a low, feral growl, emptying himself in your womb.

When he moved to retreat, you closed your arms around him. “No”, you said, “please stay.” Cupping his face, you kissed him fervently, lightly stroking his shoulders and back. He nuzzled his face in the crook of your neck, panting.

“You must have bewitched me. I never thought I could feel it again”, he whispered.

“What is it you are feeling?”

“It is like a briar, with sharp thorns and perfumed flowers, binding my heart to yours. Can you feel it to?”

“I do”, you confessed with a smile, “although I don’t feel the thorns.”

He gave you a concerned smile. “It is because you haven’t experienced mourning. If I lost you, I couldn’t bear it, _melleth nîn_.”

You clasped him tightly and whispered “You won’t lose me, ever. You won’t.”


	3. The pool

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shameless smut. I'm not even ashamed.

You woke up early, before dawn. It was still dark and Thranduil was sound asleep next to you, laying on his belly, his long hair sprawled on his back, and, listening to his slow breath, you wondered how such a domineering being could sleep with such abandon. 

You sneaked out of the bed and, spotting both your shift and Thranduil’s thick gown on the floor, you slipped them on before silently passing in the main room. The floor was covered in thick carpets, but the room surprised you with its lack of furniture: there were only three sofas and a harp next to the fireplace. You noticed a door on the other side of the room, headed to it, and entered the King’s study. A large desk made of white wood stood in the middle of the room, and the walls that seemed dark at first glance proved themselves to be covered of bookshelves. Several comfortable chairs faced the desk, which was messy and covered in parchments you didn’t dare to look at. You loved this study at once and yet, you felt uneasy, as if you were violating the King’s intimacy.

Crossing the study, tiptoeing on the plush carpets covering the floor, you reached for the large window, discovering a garden. It was quite bare in the end of winter, but you felt that it would be lush and beautiful come spring. You opened the window, careful not to make any sound, and stepped outside.

The air was dim and chilly, but you felt relieved to breath in the open air. Being kept inside Thranduil’s halls was oppressive for you, as you were used to live by the sea, to wander on the cliffs and play in the waves with your friends. But still, you were eager to see the starlight, whereas the thick branches of the old trees of the garden covered your sight. So you moved forward, your bare feet preventing any sound that could betray your trespassing. After a few minutes, you came to a high wall closing the garden. Another prison. But you knew better. You climbed swiftly, and got on the other side.

Immediately, the murmur of running water intensified, piquing your curiosity, and you rushed to the river underneath, not caring that the forest seemed to be wilder and thicker here, and that the King’s light green robe could get dirty or ripped by the bushes and brambles. As you came to the banks, you marvelled at the powerful, magnificent stream. It was rolling on rocks, white, blue and foamy, with a mighty roar, and if you raised your face to the skies, you could see the stars shining above you, feeling blessed by their light. Feeling carefree for the first time since you had left the Gulf of Lhûn, you giggled.

You wanted to dive in the water, feel its coldness on your skin, so you walked on the banks to find a place where the river wouldn’t be so tumultuous. You walked until shades of pink tinted the sky, and finally found a natural pool where a slow cross-current swirled. You swiftly discarded your garments and jumped into the water, unable to hold a squeak when you entered it, for the biting cold felt like needles all over your skin. Yet the water soothed the slight soreness between your thighs, and you felt free and happy, letting the river wash the recent events away.

You dived and swam underwater and as you resurfaced and swept the water from your eyes, Legolas was here, standing on the bank, face stern. He was holding his bow and his quiver hang in his back.

“Ada!” he called. Then turning to you, he spoke kindly. “Are you fine, my Lady?”

You nodded and stayed in the water, for you were naked and didn’t want your husband’s son to see your body.

“Why did you flee? The forest is dangerous.”

“I didn’t flee.”

“Are you hurt?”

His eyes were full of concern and… pity? You didn’t understand.

“What do you mean?”

“Did my father hurt you? He has been gentle with you, hasn’t he?”

He had lowered his voice, as if he didn’t want to be heard. Anger rose inside you as realization hit you. Did he really think your husband forced himself upon you?

“Turn around”, you commanded, and he obeyed. You climbed on the bank and before you could say anything, the King appeared, only wearing a black tunic and a pair of leather trousers, a sword in his hand, scowling, obviously furious with you.

“What were you thinking?” he growled.

“I didn’t mean to – I just wanted –“

Looking past him, you saw no party following him. They were just the two of them.

You were still naked, and you grabbed your shift, putting it on to hide your body, and wrung your damp hair. The King pulled you in his arms, heavily breathing in your hair.

“Foolish wife, you don’t know these woods! I forbid you to wander outside the palace.”

You gasped, not knowing what you felt, torn between his warm embrace and his icy tone. He drew back, picked the discarded gown on the floor and handed it to you.

“And you stole this from me, moreover”, he added with a glare. “I borrowed it”, you whispered, trembling both from the cold water trickling on your skin and drenching your shift, and from the anger radiating from him.

“Ada, she was just swimming.”

“Thank you, Legolas”, the King cut, barely looking at his son behind him.

You slipped the gown on your shoulders and closed it around your body. Thranduil seized your arm and dragged you along.

The way to the river had been full of curiosity and freedom, your feet running swiftly on the fallen leaves covering the ground. Now you were distressed and mournful, feeling like a prisoner. Wasn’t it exactly what you wanted to avoid? Wasn’t it what you had told the King? The night before, you had felt hopeful as he had proved to be gentle and caring, but now, his tight grip on you and his bare blade gave you the sheer impression of being held captive.

“My King”, you called softly.

As he ignored you, you called him again. “ _Hervenn_.”

He didn’t bother to turn to you. “We will talk when we are safe in my halls. Now hurry up, _Netholf_.”

There were no affection in this endearment, only anger and disdain. So you followed both of them in silence until you found yourself in the King’s study and he shut the window.

“My King, I meant no harm –“

Not even listening to you, the King waved his hand towards his rooms. “Bed”, he commanded in a stern voice.

“Do not treat me as a child!” you burst.

He leaned upon you, dark and ominous. “I won’t ask again.” His voice was falsely calm and you shivered in fear. So you obeyed, retreating in his bedroom, your head hanging in defeat. You couldn’t help overhearing sharp words between your husband and his son, and Legolas’ words came back to your mind. Could he think his father of such a villainy? What kind of grudge could lay between them?

You didn’t wait long, for as soon as you stood next to the window, watching the dawning light, you heard the door shutting. You spun to discover Thranduil standing motionless, shoulders tensed and chin high, scowling at you. Your beautiful, proud husband. Even in the casual clothes he had hastily put on, he was glorious. His feet were bare, and you suppressed a smile, thinking of his neatness that prevented him from soiling his precious carpets with dirty boots. You took a deep breath, bracing yourself. “I am sorry, _hervenn_ , I didn’t mean to cause such worry. I just needed to see the stars.”

“That was foolish of you, Netholf. You don’t know the forest. There are awful creatures creeping outside these walls.”

He didn’t move, and his glare and icy tone showed his cold ire enough. So you took a step, then another, until you were close enough to touch his hand, and spoke resolutely.

“I am the niece of the Shipwright, I’ve been living in the open all my life. You can’t keep me inside these walls.”

You brushed his fingers with yours, and he flinched, holding his breath. Perhaps you could try and calm him down, after all.

“Don’t be angry with me, _hervenn_. Please – give me time to adjust to this new life.”

“You disobeyed me. You left me.”

You bit your lower lip, and his eyes darted at your mouth. You were not a subject. You were his wife, his partner, his equal. So you told him once more.

“You are not king in the bedroom. Explain things and present your arguments, for I’m not yours to be commanded.”

His lips parted in shock and anger as you dared speaking to him this way.

“You’d better show deference, Netholf.”

“Respect is a mutual relationship, my lord. I am your wife, not a mere subject.”

“Impertinent little sprig.”

He persisted in scowling and, knowing you had to get used to his pride, you decided to force your luck, wondering how you could find the strength to offer yourself so boldly. You discarded the gown on the floor, shivering in your wet shift, feeling your hardened nipples grazing on the cloth. Was it from the cold, or his piercing blue gaze? You took his hand and pulled him towards the bed.

“It is still early, _hervenn_ , come rest with me.”

Your voice was soft, _obedient_. He growled and, moving for the first time, he gathered you in his arms, sliding a hand on your nape, and pulled you in a bruising, searing kiss. You leaned forward to deepen the kiss, and whined as his tongue plunged in your mouth, fighting for dominance, overwhelming and yet not enough to satisfy your sudden need of him.

When he released you, you gasped for air, your mind dizzy, and cried out as he sunk his teeth in the crook of your neck.

“Don’t command your King”, he snarled.

He slid his hands on your hips, then on your buttocks. “Hold onto me”. And as you put your arms around his shoulders, he lifted you, and you had no choice but to wrap your legs around his waist, your sex pressing against his erection. You whimpered and tilted your hips, eliciting a low rumble in his chest. He carried you to the bed and dropped you on his sheets.

“You have to learn your manners”, he growled in a dark voice that sent shivers down to your core. “Off with this shirt.” You squirmed to grab the hem of your shift, trying to sit up, but he grunted impatiently and discarded the cloth himself, then pushed you down, leaving you naked and panting.

He slid down your body and brushed your folds with his fingers, which made you gasp aloud. “Well, well. So wet already for your King.” You felt him going lower and lower, and you propped yourself on your elbows, wondering what he was doing _there_ , your eyes widening as you saw him kneeling between your thighs, watching your core intently, still stroking your folds. His eyes flickered at yours and, with a smirk, he shoved two long fingers inside you. “Ah, _hervenn_!” you cried, not breaking eye contact, and his smug smile widened.

And then, he bowed his head and kissed your folds, making your hips jerk. “What –“ He sprawled his other hand on your lower belly, pressing you firmly down, as he took a long lick on the bundle of nerves he had so pleasingly toyed with the night before. You were still sensitive and cried out, which seemed to spur him further, and you sank back onto the sheets as he licked and kissed you, and moved his fingers back and forth at the same time.

He was slow, deliberately slow, as if to torture you with pleasure. In a few minutes, you started to beg, panting, your head trashing from side to side against the bed. He compliantly curled his fingers inside you, moving his hand harder, and sucked at the erect nub he was working onto. Pleasure hit you hard, blinding you, and you felt your core clenching around his fingers. He groaned in appreciation and his low voice send more vibrations onto you as he continued stroking and licking.

As you calmed down, he slowed and ceased his ministrations, then crawled back up to you, and kissed you deeply. You could taste yourself on his lips and tongue, a warm taste, finding it not unpleasant. This was sinful, but you were too dizzy to care. “This, sweet _hervess_ , was to express my relief at finding you unharmed, for I was terribly worried.” You circled your arms around his back, whimpering with satisfaction and love, as he kissed your temple and the shell of your ear. “I promised you pleasure, and kept my promise.” You felt one of his hands slide down, fumbling with the laces of his trousers. He freed himself and you opened your knees wider as you felt his cock weighing against your drenched folds.

He penetrated you in one hard thrust and you cried out at the intrusion, hearing a loud groan emitted through his gritted teeth. Leaving you no time to adjust, he rolled his hips and snapped back, slow and hard. The pleasure was beyond words and all you could do was clutching at his shoulders.

“Open your eyes”, he commanded in his King’s cold voice. You obeyed, not even aware that you had closed them. He had straightened back and was towering you with his height and regal composure, his black tunic making him look all the more imposing. He was determined to be the King even in bed. “Look at me.” _Thrust_. “While I fuck you.” _Thrust_. You whimpered pathetically. “You promised – _ah_ – not to hurt me.” He smirked. “You don’t look like you are in pain.” You managed to slightly shook your head. “Don’t think I am not angry with you anymore.” _Thrust_. “I am positively furious.”

His hard stare and cold voice, his hands gripping on your hips and hard thrust were turning you on. It was disturbing, for you had claimed wanting equality, but you relished in his dominance as he fucked you like it was punishment. You could not fight against him, not now. As your pleasure built more and more, you needed relief and your gripped his forearms.

“ _Yield_ , Netholf”, he growled as if he had sensed your inner conflict.

“Please, _melleth nîn_ ” you sobbed.

“Say my name.”

“Please, Thranduil! Please, my King!”

At your pleas, he pressed a finger on your clit and pounded into you. You cried out, overflown by pleasure, as your back arched and your inner walls clenched around his girth. Chasing his own relief, he rutted inside you until he came with a roar, spilling his seed deep inside your belly. You felt exhausted. He collapsed onto you, crushing you with his weight, but you didn’t care as you cradled him into your arms, murmuring sweet words of love against the shell of his ear.

“I love you too, Netholf.”

He rolled on his back and you followed him, resting your head on his chest, laying a hand over his heart.

“Promise me you won’t escape like this again.”

“I didn’t escape.”

Oh, how you loved being held like this. How you loved his warmth.

“You know what I mean. I will show you where to have a walk, where to swim safely.”

You hummed and whispered, “I promise” as you drifted into a sated sleep.


	4. The King's study

You woke up in your empty, cold bed, and you shivered under your heavy covers. It was late in the night, and the King hadn’t joined you in bed yet.

Just as he had since your little… adventure at the pool, a month ago.

You knew he had a lot of work, that he was attending councils late in the night with your uncle and Sindar nobles, but it was no consolation to you. Even if the King came to bed when you were sound asleep and you woke next to him in the morning, you felt lonely. He let you cuddle at dawn, but never touched you.

You could tell he was still angry at you, for he had felt your morning stroll as a deliberate disobedience.

You sat in the bed, circling your shins with your arms, thinking of the events of the month.

The King had requested that you slept in his bed, which you had easily accepted. You rapidly perceived, however, that you didn’t share the King’s pace of life, for you were an early person whereas he slept late in the morning, and he worked until the middle of the night whereas you went to bed early. You sometimes felt him joining you in bed at night but, truth be said, you mostly saw him once a day, for the evening meal. He was always kind and attentive to you, but not very talkative. You endured this distance painfully. Surely this was the briar of which he had talked about on your wedding night – the love briar, all at once sweet and painfully sharp.

During daytime, you had begun to get to know your new home. On the first week, you had met the steward, a kind and devoted Elf who had gladly showed you the cellars and the pantries, and had given you a copy of the stocktaking. You were glad to have someone to talk to, and grateful that he accepted you to supervise his tasks, even if the King hadn’t explicitly asked for it. But if you wanted to become integrated, you had to make yourself useful.

Your maid, Tathren, proved to be very friendly, and soon you began to enjoy her company. She showed you around the halls and the Elven town outside: people lived in the trees, and you couldn’t help but envy them, for they were not kept in the underground halls of their king. Their houses were built in branches, ladders leading to them, and were linked with a rope footbridge network. It truly was a sight to behold.The Elves had developed various sorts of craftsmanship, and you enjoyed visiting the shops. They seemed genuinely pleased that you visited them and made efforts to get to know your new people.

Once, after you absent-mindedly mentioned that you barely met your husband for meals, Tathren led you to the training yard. Here he was, practicing with his guards, fighting with two swords. It was like a dance, a lethal sort of dance. He was both graceful and deadly, all fluidness, strength and ominous determination set on his sparing partners. After having sent all of them rolling in the dust, he turned to you and nodded. You had been shy that day, and this display had been so intimidating that you didn’t dare to approach him, only nodding back with a gracious smile. How you regretted it today.

Soon you couldn’t bear mulling upon your loneliness. You pulled the covers away and got up, shivering in the chilly air of your room. You put on your gown and headed, barefoot, to the King’s study. You crossed the large sitting room, seeing light under the study door. As you approached, you could hear masculine voices. The King’s and your uncle’s, mainly, and two other voices that you didn’t recognized. You scraped on the door and slightly opened it, sneaking in the study.

“I was at Dagorlad, too”, said the King in a stern tone, “and I remember all too well how many were left in the Dead Marshes.”

You felt at once that you had committed a huge error, for you had stepped into the middle of a council. The King, your uncle, Prince Legolas and the Captain of the guards were sitting at a table, various parchments spread before them, watching you in utter silence. The King was wearing his favourite dark silver robe, but no crown was set on his head, as if he was working with equals. His face was showing no emotion, his eyes only slightly narrowing.

_He’s displeased._

“I’m sorry”, you breathed.

“Is something the matter, _Netholf_?” asked the King in his smooth, dark voice.

You pressed your lips in embarrassment before speaking. You felt so foolish, so childish, now that you were here.

“I couldn’t sleep, my King. I wondered if you would be so kind to allow me to have a walk your garden.”

He frowned, troubled.

“Of course, you do not need my permission.”

You nodded and smiled gratefully, and tiptoed to the window. As you were about to open it, you stopped, hearing his voice.

“Wait, _Gilith_.”

You turned to him, wondering who he was talking to, before you realized that you were the one he had just called ‘ _starlight’_ , for his pale eyes were set upon you, and your heart skipped a beat. He stood and grasped a golden-brown velvet gown that was discarded on a chair. Slowly walking to you, he lifted the gown and settled it on your shoulders.

“Wear this. I don’t want you to freeze to death.”

The blood rushed to your cheeks, and you couldn’t suppress a wide smile as you felt surrounded by his presence and scent on the heavy garment, which warmth was very comforting.

“Thank you, my King.”

You buried your face in the collar, inhaling his scent on the cloth, and immediately flashes of the morning after your wedding surged in your mind. His strength. The way he filled you. The pleasure. You bit your lips, feeling a rush of wetness between your thighs at the memories.

Placing a knuckle under your chin, he lifted your face and watched you intently, tilting his head and flaring his nostrils. You fought the urge to gather him close to you, to kiss his soft lips, for you felt your uncle’s gaze on you.

“Go”, he whispered in your ear, “I shall join you in a moment.”

You smiled and turned to the window, careful to present your back to his guests. Just as you passed in the garden, you could hear Círdan say, “My niece seems to have grown very fond of you.”

“Hmm. I like her, too.”

You felt a pang of hurt in your chest, for you didn’t just ‘liked’ him. You _longed_ for him, craved his closeness and attention. Watched him from afar, and listened to his deep, silken voice. Nuzzled your face in his pillow when you fell asleep and he was still working in his study.

You had been struck by feelings you didn’t expect when this marriage was arranged, feelings you didn’t know could exist.

Except that he obviously didn’t return these feelings.

Your eyes stung as tears gathered. Yet you _knew_ he wouldn’t love you. He had been mourning his wife for ages, growing cold and bitter in his loneliness. He had warned you, that first night, under the starlight, that he couldn’t promise love. He hadn’t been dishonest with you. So why was it so painful?

You turned to the garden and slowly walked under the dark old trees. Leaves were but budding for it was early in spring, but the branches were so dense that you couldn’t quite see the sky. You hadn’t paid much attention when you had crossed the garden a month ago, looking for a place to soothe your mind. Now you strolled slowly, watching your surroundings.

This garden didn’t look like the neatly trimmed ones in Rivendell. There weren’t paved paths and you walked on earth and fallen leaves, which you appreciated for your bare feet connected you with the nature around you.

You walked under beeches, hornbeams and ash-trees, going further into the depths of their shadow, until you found a bench next to a weathered statue of a woman, her head hanging and her hands clasped together on her chest.

She looked both so beautiful and so sad, her eyes cast down in sorrow.

 _The Queen_.

A garland of white flowers was set on her head. Only one person could have put it there.

Your proud, inflexible husband.

You felt a compelling urge to kneel before her, and you lightly touched her feet with the tip of your fingers.

“I beg you to forgive me, _Rîs_. I never asked for this marriage. I swear that I have no intention to be a usurper.” You felt tears gather in your eyes, and didn’t even try to hold them back. “I beg of you, let me take care of him, allow me to love him.”

You silenced a sob, trying to calm your breath down.

“I already love him so much”, you confessed in a whisper.

A gentle breeze blew under the branches and you shivered both in cold and wariness. You curled on the floor, leaning onto the statue, and tightly wrapped yourself in the thick gown and in your loneliness, brewing on your sorrow.

You didn’t know how long you had been here when you heard a deep voice call your name. You must have dozed, for you blinked as you saw a silver robe. You lifted your face to meet the King’s stern gaze, and hastily stood back up.

“What are you doing here?” he asked in an icy tone.

You bit your lips, and just as you were about to make an apology, he frowned and brushed your cheek.

“Why have you been crying?” His voice was much softer, and he opened his arms in invitation. You resisted the urge to rush against him, as strong as it was.

“I begged for her clemency”, you breathed, head down in defeat.

He took a step to you and closed his arms around you, and yours circled his waist, your eyes shut and face pressed on his collarbones, revelling in his warmth and the feeling of safety that overflowed you.

He let a heavy sigh out.

“You don’t need her forgiveness, _melui_ _hervess_. There is nothing to forgive. You are not at fault. Now, come. You are freezing.”

You walked back together under the trees, arm in arm, to his study. It was only lighted by a single lamp on his desk and by the fire that was warming the room. You went straight to the fireplace as he closed the window, holding your hands to the flames.

“I didn’t expect you, earlier.”

You nearly jumped in surprise, for he was close and you hadn’t heard him. Twice this evening he had sneaked around you.

“I am sorry for the disturbance, my King.”

“Come now, call me by my name. It is just the two of us. Were you worried about something?”

You cast your head down, suddenly ashamed of your childish behaviour. But he couldn’t bear your silence, and he cupped your cheek to make you look at him. His furrowed brows and concerned eyes made you press yourself to his chest to avoid the intensity of his stare.

“I missed you”, you confessed in a whisper. “I woke up and you weren’t there, and I felt so lonely. I feel so lonely.”

Your voice broke and you choked back a sob. He closed his arms around you and whispered your name. “I know I’ve been neglecting you these past days”, he acknowledged.

“Please, don’t misunderstand me”, you cut. “This was no reproach. I know that your king duties are heavy and tiresome. I know you work hard with my uncle to prepare for the war that is coming.”

“ _Netholf_ ”, he sighed.

“I don’t want to be a burden to you, and I am sorry for overstepping my prerogatives.”

He pulled back to look at you. “What is it you are saying?” His voice was soft, patient. _Caring_. You licked your lips before speaking, and his eyes darted to your mouth.

“I feel caught in the briars”, you breathed, using the same metaphor he had used on your wedding night. “I didn’t expect to – care so much – to love you so deeply.” He swept a tear that rolled on your cheek and opened his mouth to speak, but you put your fingers on his lips to silence him. “Please, let me speak. I know you are still mourning _her_ and I know that I have no right to want you to love me. Yet I can’t help it – and it is so painful to love you from afar, knowing you are still hers, having nothing but scraps.”

“I don’t understand”, he whispered. “You made it quite clear that you didn’t wanted to marry me, and I thought you wanted to keep your distance. When I awaken, you are never at my side. I barely see you during daytime and have to ask people to know how you avoid boredom.”

Could it be possible that your domestic life was based upon a massive misunderstanding? It was almost comical.

“I know you work so much, I don’t want to impose. Besides, I’ve always been an early bird.”

He sighed, leaning to rest his forehead against yours, and closed his eyes. He stayed motionless for a few moments, only lightly stroking your hair, and you didn’t dare moving either, only inhaling his woody and earthy scent.

“You are not the one to blame. I have been overcome by my grief for so long, that I feel like _I_ am betraying her memory.”

You swallowed hard, feeling as if a heavy stone compressed your chest, making it impossible to breath. You had fekt a sparkle of hope, but just as you had figured, there was no place for you in this realm. The Dead Queen still ruled his heart.

“I felt that, for the sake of the realm, it was better that I kept shut in my study rather than in your company.”

 _Oh_.

He couldn’t have hurt you more if he had slapped you in the face.

So he deliberately avoided you.

You had never felt worse since your arrival in the Woodland Realm. You involuntarily let out a pathetic sob and he kissed your forehead, rubbing your back.

“Because, Netholf, when you are around, I can’t _think_.”

You were so confused by his fickleness. What did it mean?

“Don’t play with me”, you whimpered.

“I am not playing. You are so… distracting. The way you move, this innocent glint in your eyes, your scent, even. I can’t think straight.”

You needed a few moments to overcome your disbelief and be able to speak.

“You are avoiding me because – I’m a source of distraction?”

You felt his smile against your forehead.

“What do you want, _melleth nîn_?”

 _Everything_ , you thought. _Everything_.

But it sounded selfish. _Presumptuous_. So you only whispered a single-syllable.

“You.”

He pulled back and watched you through narrowed eyes. You chewed your lips in embarrassment, feeling blood rush to your neck and cheeks, wondering if you had been too bold. Then you raised your hand to caress his soft, silken hair with your fingertips, and he bowed his head to kiss you, a hand sliding to the back of your head. His other hand slithered between the gown and your shift, settling on the small of your back, and your marvelled at the feeling of his long fingers sprawled on the fabric, so close to your skin. His lips moved gently upon yours, and you opened them, tentatively nipping on his lower lip. He moaned in your mouth and you immediately felt heat pool in you lower belly.

As you began to unclip his robe, he stepped back, still caging you in his arms, until he fell on his armchair, and he lifted you to straddle his lap.

His hands slipped under your shift, fondling your back and hips as he let you kiss him at your leisure. You helped him out of his robe, then took off the silk tunic he wore underneath and your hands roamed on his fair, warm skin.

How you had missed this. His touch, his scent, his sighs. This was _intoxicating_.

Huddling for warmth at dawn was nowhere near having his full attention.

Feeling dizzy, you managed to squirm on his lap and fumble with the laces of his trousers, having trouble to free him. Your core clenched around nothing when you took him in hand and he hissed, eyes shut and face tense.

Yet at this point, you felt not experienced enough to know what to do and please him. He half opened his eyes and, seeing the uncertainty in your gaze, he slid a hand against yours, the other gripping your hips, and aligned himself with your entrance. You lowered on him, releasing a shaky breath and resting your forehead on his as you slowly sunk on him. He held your hips and just watched you, letting you move the way you wanted to. With each move, he made a low sound at the back of his throat, and the way he shut his eyes and rested his head on the back of the armchair made you feel powerful. _You_ were making him do that.

When he was fully sheathed inside you, you took a moment to adjust, feeling alive and – full.

“I want to see you.” He discarded both the gown and the shift you were still wearing, and you shivered in the chilly air of his study. Your hair flowed on your back and chest, and he pushed it backwards, kissing your neck and shoulders, fondling and rolling your nipples.

His hands were all over your skin whereas you had set yours on his shoulders for balance. You tentatively lifted on your knees and sunk back, once, twice, but it wasn’t as satisfying as his thrust on the morning he had found you swimming in the river pool. He must have felt it, for his hands gripped your hips and, anchoring you on his cock, he tilted them backwards. “Easy, my Queen”, he whispered hoarsely, his eyes bearing in yours. Overwhelmed by this intimacy, his warmth, his gaze, his words, you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, your elbows on his collarbones, sliding your hands in his hair, pressing flush against him, your forehead and nose resting against his as you moved back and forth, sighing and whimpering as he met you with his thrusts.

You kissed him and nibbled his lower lip, and he _growled_ in your mouth.

He sat up straighter and slid an arm in your back, his fingers curling on your shoulder to grip you and hold you down onto him as he pushed his hips up. You bent backwards instinctively and found that, undulating your hips on him, you could bring him deeper. Tilting your head to the ceiling, you released a husky moan, and he leaned to kiss your throat and shoulders, his breath hot on your skin.

“Please, Thranduil”, you whined, needing more.

“What do you want?” 

His voice was raspy and lower that usual. He held you stronger, and the grip of his forearm and hand on your back as well as his breath and sounds made all coherent thoughts impossible.

“Not enough – need more –“

“Eager little sprig.” He smiled smugly and gripped at your bottom, and you felt his finger _there_. At the _back_.

As he pressed into you, you yelped in surprise and jolted forwards.

“Yes, just like this”, he hissed as your hips rocked, and it was enough to make your core contract and your body shudder, and a white light exploded in your head, blinding you – and you heard yourself cry, not even recognizing your voice –

You opened your eyes to find yourself slouching against his chest, your face on his collarbones. His fingers were stroking your back, light as a feather, and he was soothing you with whispered words _._

_My sweet Queen._

_You did so well._

As you regained your senses, you sat up back and he kissed you.

“You are mine, _Netholf_ ”, he breathed. “Now let us get some sleep.”


	5. The Heir

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello to all of you who are reading this!  
> I haven't forgotten this story. It went slow.  
> Stay safe and enjoy!

Spring was here, at last. In the trees, leaves were burgeoning and birds were chirping everywhere. The halls gradually warmed with the sunrays passing through the large windows, and light grew, just as your joy and love were growing since your truthful conversation with the King, and the physical fulfilment of your mutual feelings.

Now you have settled on habits to share moments together. You still woke up early, but you sneaked back in bed after a morning stroll, next to the warm body of your husband. He never proved to be upset by your cold hands caressing his flawless skin. _Quite the contrary_ , you thought, biting your lips. From time to time, you helped him with his hair, oiling it before he bathed, brushing it after he had washed it. He had had a cosy sofa placed in his study, just for you, so you could spend time next to him, silently occupying yourself while he worked alone. You would always exit his study when he had a private audience, unless he asked you to stay.

The King was growing worried with the increasing power of the Shadow in the East. There had been an Orc incursion in the forest, however swiftly defeated by Feren, the Captain of the Guard, and his soldiers, therefore the King had insisted that you could defend yourself. So you had picked a bow in the armoury and showed him you were a decent archer, even if you had never practiced in the intent to actually kill, for Mithlond was a very peaceful place. “You are good enough if you have to hit a tree”, he had said sternly, “but your skills are of no use if you have to fight for your life.” The King had rebuked Círdan for not teaching you how to fight, and your uncle’s eyes had flashed with unhidden displeasure and anger, making you feel uneasy between the two of them. You had moved close to the King and, gently laying a hand on his elbow and tilting your face to his, you had whispered with a smile, “I’m a fast learner, _melleth nîn_ , do not worry about me. I will improve.” Thranduil had grunted and demanded that his own son be your instructor, for his dexterity with a bow was well renowned.

And so here you were, practicing with Legolas, running amongst the great boughs of ancient beeches and aiming at targets moving in the wind. You had to admit you really enjoyed your sessions with the Prince, for it meant you were in the open, climbing up the trees, getting up to their canopies.You could often see the sky and breathe the cold wind coming down from the snows of the Lonely Mountain. It helped you to endure your life inside the cave that was your husband’s palace. Thranduil knew this when he had decided it, and you felt grateful for his thinking of your well-being. Wasn’t it a proof of his love?

You swiftly jumped from a branch to another, noticing a straw target in the corner of your eye and bending your bow to shoot it, when you noticed bustle in the air and slowed down to cast a look around you, slightly releasing the bowstring.

“Don’t get distracted”, Legolas scolded you, just before you heard a horn.

The sound was unmistakable, warm and soft yet powerful.

It was a horn from Mithlond, made of a large conch named _hyalma_.

You stopped in your track, turning to the origin of the sound.

“Let us go and see, my Lady”, Legolas offered. “Be fast, this is a perfect exercise.”

You gracefully followed Legolas. The Prince was always very friendly and never had asked about his father’s behaviour with you again, since he had found you swimming in the cold water of the pool on the morning after your wedding and he had suggested the King might not have been kind and patient when deflowering you. The mere thought of it still repelled you. How could he misjudge his father like this?

You had noticed him silently observing you during the first weeks after your arrival, but now he had become more open and affable, and you could say that you were on good terms with him. Sometimes you thought that he had been observing his father, too, and that the discreet mutual proofs of affection you shared with Thranduil, a smile, a light stroke on your hands, a stolen kiss seldom, had seemingly been sufficient to lighten his unfavourable suppositions.

Both of you ran through the boughs towards the great courtyard, were was another gate to enter the halls and the Elven dwelling. The more you approached, the more Elves gathered at your sides, running with you, giving you gracious nods and smiles which you gladly responded. Even if you didn’t know all about your new people, they had kindly accepted you as their Lady. You were part of this realm and felt grateful for it.

When you came closer to the courtyard, both the Prince and you climbed down of the trees and walked with dignity to the gallery linked to the halls, from where you could oversee the people gathered. Círdan was already here, sternly glaring down to the yard. He cast an annoyed side glance to you before looking closely at you.

“Niece”, he greeted you. “I did not recognize you with this… strange outfit. Were you hunting?”

He was referring to the brown tight trousers and green woollen tunic you wore when you trained with the Prince. Clothes he had chosen for you. Clothes that made you look like a common Elf of Taur e-Ndaedelos. You smiled, deliberately keeping silent, and turned your gaze to the gates.

“Your dowry is here, at last.”

The gates slowly opened and disciplined soldiers paraded into the courtyard. Their helms and armours shone under the Sun and their spears moved with them like the swell in the Gulf of Lhûn.

Círdan and Thranduil had made a deal, you weren’t ignorant of this. Mithlond would send five hundred men to fight against the Shadow, whilst Mirkwood would send carpenters and rope makers to build ships, recruited amongst young and unmarried _edhil_ , for the King was reluctant to see his people go away. The Elves of Mirkwood had been ready to leave for weeks, but the troops from the Havens had seemed to tarry and the King’s impatience was turning into ire because of this delay.

You let out a shaky sigh.

Now the union was completed.

“You seem to get on well with your husband”, your uncle offered.

In the corner of your eye, you noticed Legolas slightly turning his head to you.

You nodded and smiled.

“Indeed, uncle. I have affection for him.”

He grunted.

“Does he love you?”

You lowered your head in shyness before answering.

“I believe likes me.”

Your confessions were euphemisms. You would not allow him to know of the deep love and passionate moments you shared with the King. Not after he had more or less sold you to him in exchange of carpenters to leave Middle Earth.

“Congratulations. I had no doubt that you would do your duty, but I didn’t dare to expect more. So, Thranduil is wrapped around your little finger, is he? Who could say you were so talented in bed, my dear?”

You gasped, your eyes widening in shock and embarrassment, because of his crude comment, and because you had quickly learnt that no one dared to use the name of the King.

“Uncle!”

“Lord Círdan”, said Legolas as a warning.

But the Lord of Mithlond only chuckled lightly.

“I meant no offence, Prince. You surely know what happens in the marital bed.”

He leaned upon you and whispered in your ear, “Now give him an heir, girl. Surely you want to see a descendant of Mithlond on the throne of the Woodland Realm?”

This was too much. Thranduil’s heir was standing at your side. Even if you became a mother, your child would only be second in succession. And even if your husband had claimed his love to you, you had no intention of replacing the Dead Queen. You had told him that. You were much more comfortable with a discreet, useful existence in the service of the realm. Your uncle’s scheming was dangerously close to treason. You took a step aside and gave him an indignant glare, your mouth tightly pressed and jaw clenched. You could not burst out your outrage and make a scene, but you could make him understand he had gone too far.

“I can’t recommend strongly enough that you never suggest anything of the sort, for Prince Legolas is the rightful heir”, you hissed through gritted teeth.

You faced each other in silence, holding your stares. You could feel the Prince’s gaze behind you, weighing on your shoulders.

After a few moments, the ruffling sound of silks and brocade reassured you, and the simultaneous respectful greeting Legolas whispered confirmed what you had felt: your husband had entered the gallery.

A pride that was not yours expanded in your chest, and as you turned to Thranduil, his pale eyes were on you and his lips were curled in a thin smile.

You felt your heart swell at his sight. The large sleeves of his dark silver gown were hitched up, showing the red velvet lining and drawing attention to his hands and his rings, which he was absent-mindedly fiddling with. As always, his beauty struck you. He slowly, almost lazily walked to you and as he stopped just next to you, you bowed your head, just like Legolas, Círdan and the nobles gathered around you. He greeted them, then placed a knuckle under your chin and tilted your face towards his. “My Lady wife”, he murmured, chastely pressing his lips on your forehead before taking your hand and intertwining your fingers with his. You closed your eyes for a second, inhaling his woody scent as the proximity allowed it.

Blood rushed to your cheeks. Never had he deliberately kissed you in public since your wedding ceremony, two months earlier. This innocent kiss was however effusive enough to put his affection on display. You swallowed, feeling uneasy as you caught your uncle’s gloating smirk. Thranduil rewarded him with a raised chin and a contemptuous glare through half-lidded eyes.

“Well, my Lord”, he said unfriendly, “it seems to be a very long way from the Western coast to the Woodland Realm.”

“Your Majesty must well know that five hundred men walk far slower than a smaller party, hence the delay.”

“Had they left the Gulf of Lhûn with you, they would have been here much sooner. My craftsmen and their families have been ready to leave with you since the day I wed your delightful niece.”

Círdan failed to stiffen an annoyed sigh. “They encountered difficulties on their way, and…”

“This is not of my concern”, the King cut off icily.

Your uncle couldn’t hide his displeasure at being publicly reprimanded, and strangely mixed feelings like satisfaction and guilt bloomed in your chest. It was not unpleasant to see him rebuked, for you couldn’t stand his treating you like a pawn anymore, but still he was part of your family, and you felt guilty for your own reaction. So you tore your gaze from him in fear that he could decipher your thoughts on your face. The strong, deep voice of the King luckily offered a distraction.

“Brave soldiers of Mithlond, you are most welcome in the Woodland Realm, where shall be your dwelling from now on. Swear your allegiance to me and my people, and you shall be rewarded by settling here. Should you find love, you will be allowed to marry, raise a family and become part of the people you will defend against the Dark Lord.”

The troop bended the knee at once with a perfectly simultaneous move and a metallic rustle. You shivered at the sight, both from the strange beauty of it and the thought that theses Elves had come to defend your new home from the greatest evil.

“So be it”, concluded the King. “ _Iôn nîn_ ”, he said to Legolas, “please join us in my study.” He turned away, still holding your hand but yet not pulling at it. You took a step to remain at his side and exchanged side glances and smiles with him as you walked towards the door together, followed by the light footsteps of the Prince.

“This outfit suits you well”, said the King softly.

You grinned in answer.

“It is as practical as it is comfortable.”

He leaned upon you and whispered in your ear, “Your buttocks look gorgeous in these trousers”, and you giggled, playfully smacking his arm in an attempt to shush him, not wanting his comment to be heard.

As you walked through the halls towards the King’s study, at the far end, you craned your neck to admire the impossibly high pillars of smooth, creamy stone, bathed in a golden light as sunrays passed through the large windows. Under your feet, underneath the narrow, curved, half-tree trunk that formed the walkway, you admired the stream flowing in the depths of the cave. Young elleths were drawing fresh water from it, playfully singing.

“By the Valar, I have come to love this place”, you sighed, and the King pressed your fingers tighter in his.

Sometimes, you missed the sea. You sometimes _dreamt_ of it. But your universe was now expanding around the King, his son, and Tathren, your maid.

You usually passed in the King’s study from your rooms. The main door was guarded by two soldiers, clad in their golden battle armour, holding spears. They straightened and stiffened at your arrival. Your husband cast a quick glance upon the two ellons, let go of your hand and entered the room. He sat in his armchair – you flushed at your very vivid memories of you both in this armchair – and reclined on one side, his long legs extended and crossed at the ankles.

“Sit”, he said with a lazy gesture towards the chairs.

Both Legolas and you obeyed.

“How fares my Lady wife with her martial training?”

“She is assiduous, and hard-working. Her skills have improved.”

You comfortably sat back in your chair, though blushing under your husband’s scrutiny.

“Tell me, my Lady, how do you find your lessons?”

“I very much enjoy them, my King. It is very pleasant to be outside in the open, it has helped me coping with the difficulties I encountered to live underground in these halls.”

He chuckled.

“Once again, I can only thank you for being so honest with me.”

You smiled.

“Is my son kind with you?”

You cast a glance at Legolas, who was watching you with a benevolent smile.

“The Prince is kind, but not always gentle.”

“Oh?”

Legolas let a small laugh through his nose.

“I am not harsh with the Lady of Lhûn, _Ada_ , if this is what you fear.”

“Though quite demanding”, you added, addressing him an impish smile. “But the Prince is right, as you were when you demanded his teaching.”

The King slightly raised his eyebrows, politely encouraging you to continue.

“The Prince’s lessons are very helpful. Not only I understand the necessity of such a training, but also it helps me to become a _Tawarwaith_ , since each and every subject of your realm receives such a training. I am not different of the others, now.”

“And I am glad to hear it”, answered Thranduil.

“Your people is very kind and caring. I am happy to say that I feel at home in here.”

“You have made so much efforts to become one of us, _Taurrian_ ”, said Legolas with a smile.

Heat crept to your cheeks at the title. You had heard it whispered, but no one had openly called you ‘queen of the forest’ yet.

“Taurrian?” asked the King softly.

“This is how the people calls your Lady wife, _Ada_. They love their _Taurrian_ , for she is kind and attentive to them, and is very devoted to you, _Ada_.”

Your cheeks flushed a bit more, if possible.

“Speaking of”, he added, “she stood for me against –

“Prince, no, please”, you interjected.

“– Lord Círdan a few minutes ago.”

You gave him a hard stare, clenching your jaw.

“Would you care to explain, my Lady?” asked the King’s silken voice.

Your eyes flickered to him. He was still sprawling in his seat, his hands on the armrests, in a lazy posture belied by his keen and expectant gaze.

What could you say? That your uncle wanted to use you as a pawn to oust your husband’s heir? That you didn’t want to bear his child? It was all too dangerous. As you didn’t answer, he began to impatiently tap his fingers on the armrest.

“Answer, _Netholf_!” he finally snapped, and you flinched at his sudden outburst.

“Lord Círdan has been… discourteous with you, the Prince, and me. I put him back in his place.”

His eyes narrowed, and he cocked his head on one side to show you he was being very attentive. As your silence lingered, he asked, “Discourteous?”

You swallowed, choosing your words. Legolas was staring at you, his eyes now stern.

“He made crude comments about our… intimacy.”

“Oh, did he?”

“About you, too.”

His stare hardened more, if possible. He settled his icy gaze on you, urging you to speak.

“He said I have you – um – ‘wrapped around my little finger’, and –“

“Did he say so?”

You swallowed.

“Indeed, I believe these are the exact words, my King.”

“I fail to notice where this mentions our intimacy.”

You gave a quick look at Legolas, who nodded. But you couldn’t bring yourself to say it aloud. How could you acknowledge your uncle had more or less treated you like a courtesan? You had come to the King with no experience at all, how could he suggest such a villainy? Your eyes burned at the shame of it.

“He mentioned the – um – pleasure that can be… found in the marital bed.”

“And?”

You failed to find the proper words.

“It was indelicate, my King”, you whispered.

“‘Indelicate’ is too mild. It was offensive, Ada.”

You turned your head in shame, blinking to fight your tears.

“Please, Legolas, relieve my Lady’s burden, feel free to speak”, encouraged the King, his voice falsely patient. You could feel the restrained anger in his tone.

“Well, Ada, in this case, I am going to repeat the exact words that were pronounced. Lord Círdan said his niece was ‘talented in bed’, and insisted on her giving you an heir _Mithlondello_.”

Thranduil stood abruptly, knocking his armchair over, and you froze at his anger. Never had you seen him so furious. Not even the day after your wedding, when he thought you had escaped, and you now understood that his ire that morning was provoked by your endangering yourself rather than by your leaving his side.

His eyes were set on you, pale and icy, yet burning with a cold fury.

“And what did my Lady wife answer to his words?”

Was he talking to Legolas or to you? If it was the later, his addressing you in the third person was disturbing. _Disdainful_.

“Was it the purpose since the beginning? Oust my son, put your child on the throne? Replace a _Tawarwaith_ with a _cirion_?”

You gasped and stood up, outraged by his unfair accusations. Offended with his contempt for your people. He claimed that he loved you, but he didn’t want to remember you came from the Havens. You knew he had a high opinion of him and his people, but never before had he made you feel like an inferior.

“How dare you?” you burst, and your husband’s eyes flashed with fury. “Please elaborate, my _King_ ” – and you practically spat the word – “care to explain what you mean. Would it be disgraceful for you to breed a child in the womb of an elleth who played in the waves? Maybe you are afraid it could be born with a fishtail?”

He made an angry gesture, clenching his fist, his wrist shaking with fury.

“Do not speak to me like this”, he snarled.

Legolas silently approached, looking at his father.

“The Queen stood for you, Ada.”

His voice was soft, yet firm. Defending you. Relief washed upon you, and you were happy to have a friend by your side.

The King lifted his chin, trying to contain his temper, his jaw clenched and lips tightly pressed. He took a deep breath in, then slowly exhaled.

“She stood against her uncle _for you_ ”, Legolas repeated.

“Is that so, _Netholf_?”

He spoke slowly, through gritted teeth, his fists clenched at his sides. His voice was low and controlled, and you remembered what you had overcome since your arrival. You were his wife and you refused to fear him. So you took a step to him, seizing his right hand in yours.

“I reminded him that you already have an heir, who stood beside him as he spoke. I told him not to mention such an idea anymore.”

He let out a shaky breath, and pressed your fingers in his, his face cast down to yours.

“As for a child”, you whispered, “you should know I do not want to be a mother.”

He took a sharp inhale through his nose and his eyes flickered to his son. He swiftly moved his head in a gesture that was as unmistakable as it was authoritative. A silent order to leave. Legolas slightly bowed and obeyed.

“May I ask why?”

His voice was low, soft, and guarded. Lifting your eyes to his face, you noticed that he tightly pressed his lips and chewed his cheek. Hurt stabbed you in chest. His and yours. You let his hand go and turned, walking to the window. You had to tell him about your multiple reasons.

“Because war is upon us, and I don’t want to inflict this to a child.”

This was the more reasonable one.

“Because I don’t want to be seen as an ambitious elleth wanting to tie the King, or intending to chase the heir out of his home.”

This one, you had been thinking of since you had been betrothed to him.

“Because I’m greedy, and want you for me alone. Because –“

This last reason was particularly hard to say, but you felt insulted by his understatement, and you had to say it, or you would be gnawing on the idea for weeks. Or months.

“Because you obviously despise us people from the Havens, and might not want to mix your blood with mine.”

Your voice broke and you swiftly swept the tears that rolled on your cheeks.

“You know that one reason is not true.”

“This is what you just said.”

A heavy sigh was his answer. The ruffle of silk and brocade told you he was just behind you, but the weight and warmth of his hands on your shoulders made you flinch all the same.

“You know I spoke nonsense in anger. Forgive me, _melleth nîn_.”

He pressed his chest to your back and slithered a hand around your belly, settling it above your womb. He leaned, his lips lightly kissing your hair and your temple, then the shell of your ear.

“I would be the happiest _ellon_ ever if you gave me a child. Imagine a daughter looking like you, with dark hair and a feisty temper.”

His murmurs in your ear, his arms wrapped around you. He wasn’t playing fair and he knew it. He grazed the shell of your ear with his lips down to the lobe, and licked the small bud of flesh. A shiver coursed down your spin.

“Can you envision this, my sweet _Netholf_?”

You were too hurt by his contempt to let him distract you. No, seduce you, with his skills and sexual talent.

“You wouldn’t force me to bear a child, would you?”

He stiffened against your back, his fingers tightening on your body, and you heard his breath stop. His hands fell abruptly and he released a shaky breath, straightening back.

“The Shadow seems to have crept in the very heart of my realm”, he muttered. “Never have we said such horrendous words to each other.”

His warmth was not to be felt at your back anymore, and you heard him stride to the door and leave the room.


	6. The attack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tooth-rotting fluff ahead. I'm warning you.

As the King left, you felt heavy with guilt and sorrow.

What you had said to him was awful.

But he had been obnoxious too, hadn’t he?

_This is not a reason. You should be above this._

You had deliberately hurt him. And now, you didn’t know if the pain you felt was more yours or his. It was as if a mass was expanding in your chest, compressing your inner organs. Squeezing your heart. Pressing on your lungs.

You would apology to him. Make amends. For he had already asked for your forgiveness after his unfair words. And yet, you felt like the worst of the both of you, because you had vocalized this horrendous sentence when he was trying to appease you, to offer you warmth and reconciliation.

 _Make-up sex_ , a treacherous voice echoed in your mind, and you choked.

Even if it had been his intentions, wasn’t it better than your spitting venom? He wanted to make up, at least.

For now, there was nothing to be done. He was gone, probably to unleash his anger and frustration on the training field. Blinking back tears, you went to clean off the exertion of your session with Legolas and wear a fresh dress.

You kept silent as Tathren helped you with a wet cloth, brooding and mulling over this hideous exchange of words. She tried to soothe your mind with kind words, but you only watched her in silence, letting your feelings gnawing on you.

_You wouldn’t force me to bear a child, would you?_

Oh, how could you say such a thing, even when you knew that conceiving a child was such a sacred act? That your couplings – for a lack of better words – were a way to know each other and deepen your mutual affection? That he never spoke about a child before your uncle made this foul comment?

Círdan had to leave.

You would tell the King.

All you could hope was that he would listen to you.

If you knew where he was, you could try to go and tell him how much you regretted your meanness.

Once your plum-coloured velvet dress was laced, you asked Tathren to accompany you to the training field. You managed to walk with composure and dignity when you were nothing but an internal turmoil of churning remorse and sorrow. And dread. Dread coming up, mixing with your other emotions. _Why?_

Exiting on the gallery above the training field, you only found it empty. There was a slight tension in the air.

“I’m scared”, you murmured.

Something was wrong.

“Do not worry, my Lady. What you are feeling are only traces of the King’s temper.”

You shook your head.

“No. There is something else.”

A threat.

Dark and shadowy.

Something evil.

“Where is the King?”

As a horn resonated, with a rusty, foul sound, fear washed over you. You turned your head to your maid, only to see her eyes wide with panic.

“ _Yrch_!”

“The people”, you gasped, fear running in your veins.

Spinning around, you grasped the hem of your dress to allow you to run faster, propriety being the least of your concern for now. Tathren took the lead through a shortcut to the dwelling of the Elves. You expected to meet chaos there, but it was as if panic could be organized.

 _Ellyn_ were running towards the forest, armed with bows and short swords.

 _Ellith_ took care of children, guiding them to the shelter of their huts.

“Get inside the halls!” you called, and an older _elleth_ turned to look at you.

You repeated your cry, gesturing towards to caves, pleading for them to take shelter inside the stronghold.

The _elleth_ bowed her head and grasped the hand of a child, heading towards the palace, encouraging the other Elves to imitate her.

“Listen to our _Taurrian_ , go to the palace!” she exclaimed.

The sound of the horn was heard again, and it seemed to be closer, followed by awful yells of Orcs. Never had you been confronted to these foul, decrepit creatures, protected as you were in Mithlond. This sound made fear crawl under your skin and the hair of you nape stood on end.

“Be quick!” you urged, and went into a hut to press the inhabitants. Tathren helped you, and soon, word spread that you had opened the palace for refuge. People, mostly women and children, fled to the cave.

“We have to run, my Lady. You must be safe when the King returns.”

“We can’t leave them here”, you cried, distraught by the approaching clamour of the battle.

You turned to have a look at the other side of the river and you froze, eyes widened when you caught Orcs bending their bows in direction of the dwellings. They loosened their strings, and with horror you saw that ropes were attached to their arrows. They intended to cross the river.

_No no no no no!_

A group of Elven soldiers in golden armour came from your back.

“Go to the palace, my Lady”, said one of them, his tone peremptory.

They went to the river, and started cutting the ropes on which Orcs were already starting to crawl.

“Flee, my Lady”, urged Tathren.

This time, you obeyed, running to the great doors, your legs faster than ever. When the two of you entered, the gates closed behind you.

“But the soldiers –“

“We were waiting for you, my Lady”, said Ereg, the seneschal, his head bowed. “The King wants you safe.”

“Where is the King?”

He didn’t answer.

“Where is the King?” you demanded again, hearing panic in your voice.

You couldn’t risk him to be injured. Or worse. Not with this quarrel between you.

“He’s leading our troops, my Lady.”

You faltered, feeling weak in the knees at imagining him surrounded with enemies. Tathren reached for you, but you willed yourself to stay strong, even though you felt your cheeks blanching. You released a shaky breath.

“Lead them to the banquet hall”, you managed to say to Ereg, showing the Elves with an open hand, your voice not as steady as you would have wished, but sounding reasonably convincing. “See that they are given food and drinks.”

He nodded in respect and did as he was told.

As the Elves began to follow him, a small hand took your fingers, and you lowered your head to meet a little _elleth_ ’s gaze. She gave you an encouraging smile.

“Have no fear, _Taurrian_. The King is strong.”

You watched her in silence, dumbstruck, and she went along, letting go of your hand as her mother gently pushed her with a smile.

You waited for the last Elf to move and followed the group to the banquet hall. When servants came in with pots of hot soup, you helped with the serving, making sure everyone had a steaming bowl in their hands. Thinking of the others’ well-being helped you not to think about _him_. Your husband. Your mate. Fighting on the battlefield after you had quarrelled and you had behaved in such an obnoxious way with him.

Too soon, they were all sitting silently on the wooden floor, waiting for the battle to end, confident in their King’s victory.

You didn’t doubt him.

You didn’t doubt that the Shadow would want him dead, either.

And it drove you mad with worry.

You complied when Ereg asked you to sit at the back of the hall. He said he would be relieved to know you far from the gates. Unable to stand idleness, you started to pace back and forth, rocking yourself when you went to stop walking, concentrated on choking your tears of anguish.

It lasted for hours.

It seemed like eternity.

The silence was deafening, save for your footsteps.

When at last the doors opened, revealing the tall frame of the King in full armour, you joined the general sigh of relief that echoed in the hall. You bolted, unable to stop yourself from running to him and flinging yourself in his arms, overflown with relief as he closed them around your back, the hard plates of metal pressing against your body.

“Are you hurt?” you asked him.

“No.”

He planted a kiss on the crown of your hair and you lifted your face to his.

“I’m so sorry”, you whispered.

“Shhh. I’ll need you to help me out of my armour, my Lady.”

He brushed your brow with his nose and leaned forward.

“Meet me in the bath chambers”, he said lowly in your ear.

A shiver coursed through you. You draw back just enough to gaze at him, expecting to read desire on his face, but you could only see regal composure, even though his features were smeared with black blood. His face was schooled and unreadable. You swallowed and nodded gracefully, lowering your eyes in obedience.

“If I may, I have someone to see before I join you”, you said.

“Of course. Take your time.”

He took a step back and left.

You went to the little girl who had comforted you. She was quietly waiting in her mother’s lap and lifted her innocent eyes to yours when you crouched next to them.

“Please, my Lady, don’t – “protested the mother, embarrassed.

You smiled to her and took her daughter’s hand.

“Thank you very much, my dear, for being so kind with me and giving me strength when I needed it most. You were a great comfort to me.”

“But you seemed so worried all the same”, she answered shyly.

You smiled benevolently.

“One of my many flaws”, you answered with a smile and a wink. “I’m always worried for the ones I care for.”

“Thank you for allowing us to take shelter, my Lady”, said the mother.

“Don’t thank me. It was the least I could do.”

You gave them another smile before you stood and headed to meet the King.

When you arrived before the doors of the bath chambers, a aid following you with fresh clothes for your husband, you stopped a few moments, taking a deep inhale and bracing yourself. You had to fix the dispute between you. The King’s cold stare in the hall made you feel uneasy. What if he was still angry with you? What if he couldn’t forgive your words? You had implied you thought he could force himself upon you, after all.

As you opened the door, you could see the King standing perfectly still before the deepest pool, a look of boredom and tiredness on his face. Hot sources supplied the baths, and the air of the room was always hot and thick with steam. A manservant was already done with the King’s armour, picking the last pieces to go and clean them. You didn’t think you were so late.

“Thank you”, you said to the man. “I’ll help the King with his clothes.”

He bowed and left in silence, followed by the maid.

Thranduil watched you with hooded eyes, his chin high, not saying a word either.

Acting like your King, not like your husband.

“Forgive me, I’m late. He was fast with removing your armour”, you offered.

He didn’t answer, setting a guarded gaze on you.

Chewing your bottom lip, you bent your head and turned your attention to the padded tunic he was wearing to protect his skin from the armour plates. As you lifted his arm to undo the laces on his flanks, he complied and you took off the tunic, sliding it above his head.

“How many were they?” you asked tentatively.

“Too many of them.”

He kept silent a few minutes, removing his boots and the rest of his clothes, entering the steaming water with a sigh of relief.

He sat on the stairs, presenting his back to you.

“They retreated as fast as they attacked. There is a trap underneath it all.”

You grabbed a bowl, a bar of soap and a bottle of oil, and kneeled behind him.

“We chased them through the forest and slained the most of them. They came from Dol Guldur. The Shadow is gathering forces.”

You poured a bit of fragrant oil in your hands and started to rub the sore muscles of his back and shoulders. He reclined in your touch, closed his eyes, and sighed.

“It would be easier for me if you turned around so I could reach your back, my Lord.”

He groaned and, to your surprise, obeyed, getting out of the water and laying on his belly on the edge of the pool, crossing his forearms to rest his head on them, exposing his broad back to you.

You wasted no time and pressed your fingers in his hard muscles, working on him. He lay totally still and passive. Confident. You couldn’t help smiling as he groaned. After a while, you found a particularly stiff spot where his shoulder met his neck, and he moaned as your fingers dug into his skin, releasing the tension. You continued, working on his nape, up to the base of his skull. He exhaled deeply and you leaned over a bit to check on him. His eyes were closed and his lips parted. His face wore an expression so sensual you felt a rush of wetness in your core, and you blushed furiously.

“Are you feeling better?” you asked, your voice sounding raspier than you intended.

He groaned again as you went down to his shoulder blades. You kept working on his muscles, shaking your thoughts, adding a bit of oil to ease his sore muscles. He relaxed completely under your fingers and his breath deepened and slowed. You thought he was asleep, when he finally moaned hoarsely, “You have such deft fingers”, and you chuckled lightly.

You kneaded his back, insisting on each side of his spine, and he groaned once more.

“Is it painful?”

“Yes, but it brings me relief too.”

You made a small sound of acknowledgement, never ceasing your massage. Your own muscles were beginning to feel sore under the task, and the muggy atmosphere of the room made your velvet dress rather uncomfortable.

“You were right”, he murmured after a while.

“About what?”

“We can’t inflict war to a child.”

You stopped in your tracks, swallowing hard.

“I’m so sorry”, you whispered, and his laying perfectly still made it easier for you to speak. You didn’t have to hold his cold stare. “I regret my words. I regret them profoundly.”

Turning swiftly and deftly, he shot a hand and caught your wrist, making you gasp. Thousands of years of training and fighting had made him a lethal warrior.

“Join me, and I’ll accept your apologies.”

His eyes were not cold anymore, the steel blue almost grey in the dim light of the bath chambers.

He wanted to make up. He more than probably wanted take you in the warm water. What you had refused in his office, you were willing to give him now.

You pulled the laces in the back of you dress, cursing yourself for choosing such a complicated gown. Only to be pretty and please his eyes. He sat in a nimble and gracious motion, circling you with his arms, his hands easily unlacing the dress, allowing you to take it off over your head. You striped from your small clothes and entered the pool as he slipped into the water.

“Are you a better swimmer than me, little _gwingil_?”

He was smirking at you. The pool was deep, built for him, and you couldn’t touch the bottom. You dived and swam underwater, effectively showing him you were a good swimmer. When you reached the other side of the pool, strong arms caged you, making you squeak and cackle like a girl. You turned around to face him. He was laughing, too, and you grabbed his shoulders for balance.

“Let me see what I’ve caught”, he said in a low tone, seizing your thighs with his large hands and hiking them around his waist, fondling your skin. “No scales. No fishtail.”

He smiled smugly, teasing you with your previous words.

“Are you sure you are not a _gwingil_?”

A mermaid. You had told him you used to swim in the sea and play in the waves.

“I never – _ah_ – said such thing.”

He had slid a hand between you and was brushing your opening with his thumb.

“Are you sure?” he purred. “Do not try to lie to me.”

You sighed in his neck, and he drew back to capture your lips in a deep kiss. You moaned in his mouth when he rubbed his length between your folds, sliding along your entrance but never breaching you.

“You deserve punishment for your words.”

You moaned and shivered, your mind dizzy with desire.

“Yet you must have bewitched me with your mermaid-magic, for the only punishment I want to give you is pleasure.”

You kissed him more and tilted your hips against his, increasing the friction, trying to position your slit above the head of his cock, your erect nipples grazing the skin of his chest. You were about to beg him, nearly delirious with want.

“ _Ada_.”

You stiffened and squeezed your eyes shut, hiding your face in the King’s neck in humiliation. He exhaled sharply through his nose, never letting go of you, only slowly turning his head to his son, not even caring to disguise the ire on his face. You cast a glance to Legolas, seeing him turn his back to you, his head bent in embarrassment.

“I’m sorry, _Ada_. It is a matter of importance.”

It must be _very_ important, if Legolas took the risk to expose himself to his father’s wrath.

“Speak!” Thranduil snapped, and you shivered. He cradled you in his arms, reassuring you. You were not the object of his anger.

“The prisoner has escaped. The attack was a diversion.”

The King lowered his head, releasing a long sigh, closing his eyes. He took a few moments to recover, then said sternly, “Give me a minute to dress properly.”

“Certainly”, answered the Prince. “My Lady”, he said as a greeting before he crossed the threshold and closed the door behind him.

You lifted your face to watch your husband. His eyes met yours, full of sullenness.

“I’m afraid my duty calls me, _Melleth nîn_.”

He chewed his cheek, apparently considering something.

“Of course, I could have you quickly, but –“

“I’d rather we didn’t rush”, you whispered, whereas your core ached for his attention.

He gave you a joyless smile and a soft kiss.

“Then we’ll do this another time.”


End file.
